Bedevilment
by MockingjayWolf
Summary: A new criminal organization has emerged from the ashes of Quantum. The young, irritating and highly unstable Leah Reilly, armed with only a good ear for picking up information, a habit of looking for trouble and a wry outlook on life, might be able to stop them. But only if she can stop trying to annoy Q long enough to concentrate on not getting killed. Post-Skyfall, Q/OC on hiatus
1. Chapter 1

**Bedevilment**

_Try to hear my voice_  
_You can leave, now it's your choice_

_Maybe if I fall asleep, I won't breathe right_  
_Maybe if I leave tonight, I won't come back_

_I said it before, I won't say it again_  
_Love is a game to you, it's not pretend_  
_Maybe if I fall asleep, I won't breathe right_

_Can nobody hear me?_  
_I've got a lot that's on my mind_  
_I cannot breathe_  
_Can you hear it, too?_

**Chapter One  
An Ill-Mannered Greeting**

The banner read _West Emmbrook Farmer's Market_, and it was wildly misleading. 'Farmer's Market' implied fresh produce, outstanding craftsmanship and baked goods that would make grandma positively keel over in delight. It implied a whirlwind of colors, scents, faces and sounds.

It did not imply half a dozen dodgy-looking stalls with dodgier-looking people slumping behind the counters, their faces all identical masks of jaded 'I-wish-I-wasn't-here'.

Leah eyed a rather sad-looking batch of scorched biscuits with disdain. "How much for one?" she asked hesitantly, after awkwardly making eye contact with the stall keeper.

The scraggly-looking woman punching numbers into the till glanced down and sighed. "Five pounds for two. Can't buy just one. Fresh out of the oven, they are." Her forehead was beaded with sweat and her green eyes, bright though they were, were mostly obscured by a heavy black unibrow coming down low over her face.

"Oh. I'll be coming back, then?" Like hell she was.

The woman exhaled again, sharper this time. "That's what they all say." She picked up one of her burned cookies and bit into it, chewing mournfully.

Leah flashed her a reassuring, if somewhat uncomfortable, smile, and walked away quickly.

There were probably a total of fifty people in the market, and all of them seemed to belong to one of two groups; beaming, portraiture families or cooing, ridiculously close couples. Leah belonged to neither, and felt sorely out of place. Her hand crept up subconsciously to wind its way into her thick cocoa-colored hair, cropped to just above her elbows and let loose to spill over her shoulder in a disorganized, somewhat spiky and very nest-like waterfall.

"Well, she was pleasant," a voice remarked cheerfully from behind her. "We haven't seen you in months, Reilly, where've you been?"

Leah stopped, grimaced and turned around.

"Go and bother someone else, Sean. I'm really not in the mood, believe it or not. You too, Kate," she said, snapping her words slightly less than she'd meant to.

Kate, a pixieish bleach-blond whose rhinestone-bedazzled sunglasses seemed to be permanently glued to her head, looked taken aback and clutched at the the thin, almost see-through material of her sky-blue sundress. Sean, taller than his twin and more muscular, just grinned and bounced up and down on the balls of his bare feet.

"Come on, Lee, don't be such a bloody stick in the mud. Just buy something, or at least pretend you can tolerate us in the slightest." He made a wide sweeping gesture at the poorly-made sculptures, knick-knacks and decorations that he stood behind.

Sean and Kate Thomas were former high school classmates of Leah's. The three of them, along with about half a dozen other kids from their town, had all gone to the international boarding-or-day-students school in Central London, making the three-hour commute there and back each day. Sean and Kate were two identical examples of the subspecies of human beings that never harbor any desire whatsoever to leave the town of their birth, ever, for anything. Sean was a self-proclaimed surfer by trade, even though Emmbrook was nowhere near the ocean; as far as Leah knew, he did nothing but inspect his spiky, gelled blond hair, flex his biceps and faithfully devour romance novels aimed at teenage girls, one after the other. Kate was a female copy of him; she did all of the above that her brother did, right down to flexing her nonexistent bicep muscles. They were not Leah's favorite people to run into on a decent Saturday morning, where the clouds stood awkwardly in the sky but didn't have enough courage to even threaten to rain.

Leah gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Not worth pretending," she said curtly, holding up her nails to inspect them, as though this threw up some sort of invisible barrier between her and the twins. God, her cuticles looked terrible.

Sean sniggered and Kate followed suite. "Oh, I forgot, Kate," he mocked, nonchalantly leaning down to adjust a crude tea mug with a cliched slogan etched onto the front, something about attitude and how yours was wrong in every way. "The great and powerful Leah Reilly doesn't deign to lower herself to walk amongst the commoners."

Kate barked a laugh, then paused, a bemused look crossing her face. "Wait... Are we commoners?"

Sean pinched the bridge of his nose and threw a look towards Leah that said, _"Jeez, can you believe her? So embarrassing that we're related." _as though they were sharing some private joke and he hadn't just been insulting her.

"What happened to _you, _Leah? You used to be cool."

_There's a big difference between 'cool' and 'total airhead'._

"I went to college."

"Got that right." Sean nudged his sister in the ribs and chuckled. "You cut your hair, your accent is different, you're using different words. You're a... a nerd now!" He laughed again.

Leah raised her eyebrow and took one slow, calculating step towards the counter, and in one smooth motion pushed the mug out of Sean's loosened grip, letting it tumble to the floor and shatter. His almost flirty expression evaporated immediately, making way for a furious glare and a mouth that was struggling to form a coherent sentence, shaping the words but never saying them.

"Oops," she hissed slowly, never breaking eye-contact. "I'm pissed off, I have to tell you, but here, let me pay for that." With an unnecessary flick of her wrist, she dug a five-pound note out of her purse and slapped it into Sean's palm. He started and Leah simpered, giving a little _humph_ of satisfaction.

Feeling far too pleased with herself, she turned to flounce away. Behind her back, she barely heard Kate's distasteful whisper. One word, but it hit Leah in the back like a blunt knife, digging into her ribs. "Bitch."

Her first instinct was to whirl, aim and ignite an onslaught of abuses that would make Kate's permed hair turn white in horror. Instead, she restrained herself, choosing to turn slowly on her heel, stiff-legged, measuring her words out carefully.

Leah stared at Kate hard, causing the blond girl to drop her gaze down to her hands, clenched tight.

Leah clicked her tongue sympathetically. "Look, Katy, I'll try to use small words so you can understand, okay? Yes, I am a bitch - it's _very_ nice of you to notice. But I'm a bitch with a bloody master's degree in sociology. I'm twenty-three years old and just about to move into a flat in central London. In fact, I got back from the US last night, and just stopped home to get my things before I move out for good, unlike you, you vacuous _bimbo._ Now - jeez, how to put this delicately? Go bugger yourself."

Kate gasped and put a hand over her heart, perhaps theatrically, but probably genuinely, stunned into silence. She looked as though she was about to have a haemorrhage; but that was probably just her small brain trying to formulate a comeback. Leah waited patiently, arms crossed, vaguely interested to see what the flighty girl was going to say. Sean stared at her and then at his sister, starting when he saw a vein bulge out of Kate's forehead as she strained to compute.

"So... So... you wanna buy something?" Kate finally asked, looking as though her memory had been completely wiped. "We've got... cows." Kate held up a small ceramic cow, shoddily painted to resemble the Statue of Liberty. "Made it myself." She gave a weak smile.

Leah put a hand to her mouth to cover her grin. _God, she's an idiot. _"Yeah, no, I'm looking for something specific."

Immediately, Sean was a businessman. "What you looking for? We've got lots of stuff." It was like the last two minutes had never happened. Leah shrugged, deciding quickly to go with it; you couldn't argue with two people whose collective IQ was smaller than her shoe size.

"Don't suppose you have any Scrabble sets?" she asked, trying to sound innocent.

"Lemme check." Sean took his sweet time pulling a ledger from below the counter, flipping through it with the air of someone who had all the time in the world. "Scrabble... Scrabble... Oh, yeah. Kate, get box seven, it's got some old-time gamey stuff of Mum's." As Kate scurried to the back of the small tent, Sean leaned forward, looking decidedly disinterested. "Oi, Leah, who's this for anyways? You never struck me as the kind of person who spent her Friday evenings playing Scrabble, Bingo, Monopoly, you know..."

"This is for someone else. You wouldn't know him. Remember high school? He and I had the same History, Physics and Calculus classes. He was kind of obsessed with the game." In truth, the guy had only mentioned Scrabble once or twice, but she remembered it as a quirky enough topic of conversation to be the only memorable thing about him. "I might be working with him soon."

"Name?"

"None of your bloody business."

Sean smirked. "He your boyfriend?"

Leah scoffed, a scornful note. "Well, it's nice to see that the guys in this town haven't changed one bit."

Kate stumbled back, interrupting her, staggering under the weight of a cardboard box that was almost as large as she was. "Gottit, Sean," she mumbled, her voice muffled behind the crate.

"Jesus H. Christ, Kate, I didn't mean the whole box - _watch_ it!" He leaped forward to catch his sister as she tripped over her own feet and the box nearly went flying, its contents shuddering in their places. He took the box and plopped it down on the counter, narrowly avoiding shattering more than a few tasteless plates. "There. Whatever you want, take a look."

Leah leaned forward, arms folded over her chest. It was hard to tell, but most of what was in box seven seemed to be useless junk. A few scrolls with badly-brushed calligraphy, a couple vials of what appeared to be some sort of squid ink and a couple embroidered pillows. Nothing special. Wait - she turned one of the pillows over, holding back a sneeze as a small cloud of dust rose up.

The pillow itself was tacky enough, a puke-beige sort of color, with the kind of frayed, tasseled edges that were supposed to look good, but didn't. It was small, only slightly bigger than her hand. And, more importantly, it had a giant 'A' stitched onto the front of it. A '1' was to the left and below the letter, like an afterthought that had almost been forgotten. It was close enough.

"I need eight."

"Ooh, specific. Any particular letters?"

"Yes." She grinned wickedly.

~:~:~§~:~:~

Q stumbled through the front door, hanging onto the door frame for support. It had been far too long a day for his liking, what with Bond nearly blowing himself up, once again. He dragged himself down the short flight of stairs leading to his small living room and collapsed on the hard black couch, deflating his chest in a sigh of relief

It was good to be home.

After a few minutes of staring at his ceiling blankly, he rolled off the seat and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head.

"I _have_ to go on vacation." Smiling sheepishly at nothing in particular, he moved into the bedroom. Narrowed his eyes. Moved a step forward, regarding what was in front of him. Slowly, as though afraid it might sit up and bite him, picked up the white envelope that was lying patiently on his bedspread. Glanced up once more, frowning.

S1 C3 R1 E1 W4 Y4 O1 U1

The eight pillows leaned blatantly against the plain wooden headboard. He raised an eyebrow and tore the envelope open, reading quickly.

_Dearest... 'Q',_

_Hope you're still into Scrabble, otherwise I think my greeting would be far less poignant. Hope you liked it, by the way. Be a shame if you didn't; I took quite a lot of time looking for just the right touch. Perhaps it a little ruder than you're used to receiving, but I thought it necessary. You know, just a little payback for high school._

_You remember those years, I hope. Not too fond of them, myself, and I don't suppose you are either. Yes, you were the computer nerd, and I was, as hard as I try to forget it, the stereotypical 'popular girl'; bubbly, short and dumb beyond belief. I wasn't an idiot; I realized in middle school that you couldn't be smart _and _popular, so I went - to put this into terms you would understand - undercover, playing along for years, and it was _exhausting. _Unlike so many people, I realized that the common human being absolutely _adores _being right, especially when they aren't, and tend to want to be around idiotic people who make them feel 'right'. So I became that idiotic person._

_But maybe you recall that one time in Year 11, where we were in some of the same classes, and I proved you wrong in that genetic engineering debate? It was a mistake, but your logic was so flawed that I couldn't help myself. One of the highlights of my life, I can tell you that, seeing the look on your face. Yeah, I realize you probably don't have a clue as to what I'm talking about. But I, at least, have a vivid memory of what you said to me after class. Something along the lines of, "Reilly, you think you're so funny, trampling over my presentation. But I can tell you now, you'll never amount to anything more than a minuscule tea stain on the face of the world's history. Harridan." (Nice choice of insulting word, by the way.) I think the evil laugh you added afterwards was a product of my imagination. Admittedly, I was scathing in my retort to your speech in the debate, but I took pride in that and will not apologize. _

_You might recall I my reply, too. "Listen, I'd love to see things from your point of view, but I can't shove my head that far up my ass." Hopefully, that stung a little._

_I thought I'd let you know, since it's unlikely that we'll be catching up over coffee anytime soon, that I am a college graduate, aged twenty-three, and about to start work. Where? Same place as you, so I don't think I need mention it by name. That's right: that minuscule tea stain is about to start working in the same place the high and mighty 'Q' does. How do I know you work there? Let's just say my ex-boyfriend was a hacker of the highest quality; not harmful in any way, but I could play him for information like a cello. Not that I play the cello, but I think you might just be smart enough to understand it's a figure of speech._

_By the way, you might be wondering how I got into your apartment. My explanation is thus: I have one older brother, now in the military, who locked me in the garage a lot when we were kids. I had to learn to get out somehow, and picking the lock was the obvious solution._

_Let's not forget that I know your real name. Now, I'm not that much of an asshole that I'll address you by it and compromise your safety (believe it or not, I do have my limits), but mark me when I say I will be holding it over your head if I ever feel the need to._

_Hope you're well. Nice weather we're having for this time of year, isn't it?_

_Cheers,_

_Leah Reilly_

_P.S. You might think this is a long time to be bitter over what you might perceive as a minor incident, but there's one thing you should about us harridans: we're characteristically resentful and hang onto grudges like nerds (e.g. you) hang onto their virginity. _

_See you at work._

Q groaned and ground the notepaper into his palm. He remembered Leah Reilly. Too well. He remembered thinking that she was a shrew who thought she had it all. He had always thought that she and her little group of clones would be the type to get pregnant just before graduation or marry rich, and do nothing with their lives. And now she was going to be working alongside him.

Wait. On the record, he had it written down that he worked for Guidewire Software. Perhaps she thought that was where he was actually working? That had to be it.

He smiled to himself and threw the letter into the dustbin next to his bed. Gathering up the pillows, he pushed them to the back of his closet.

Leah Reilly, ex-school ditz and all around virago, was not coming to work at MI6.

~:~:•:~:~

_A/N: New fic! That's pretty good, right? Anyways, hopefully you liked the first chapter. Thanks for reading, and please __**review**__ if you liked/loved/hated/meh'ed/sat on this story so far. Super big thanks to my beta, Starcrier, for the incredibly helpful editing tips. The song at the beginning was Imagine Dragons' 'Hear Me'.  
LOLZ, Less Than Three, Winky-Face-Things, etc.,  
MockingjayWolf_


	2. Chapter 2

**Bedevilment**

_Teenage dreams in a teenage circus_  
_Running around like a clown on purpose_  
_Who gives a damn about the family you come from?_  
_No giving up when you're young and you want some_

_Running around again_  
_Running for running_

_Waking up_  
_In the midday sun_  
_What's to live for?_  
_You could see what I've done_  
_Staring at emotion_  
_In the light of day_  
_I was running_  
_From the things that you'd say_

_We are not what you think we are_  
_We are golden, we are golden._

**Chapter Two  
Denial**

"You are, I expect, aware and prepared to accept of the high level of risk that accompanies this occupation?"

"Of course, sir." Leah smiled tersely.

M smirked without humor. "Very well, Miss Reilly. Your resume seems to be" - he glanced over the papers lying on his desk once more - "in order, and your test and training results have come back. I believe you are aware of the results, this being your third interview?"

"Yes. Sir," she added as afterthought. She had taken the short but intensive initial training course over the summer, and had passed with flying colors. She looked up, as it suddenly occurred to her that her lack of eye-contact was probably being perceived as lack of confidence rather than a show of deference, as she'd intended. But M was looking past her.

There was a small but commanding _ahem _from behind her.

She twisted around in the leather seat to eye the newcomer. Her fingers tightened a little around the arms of the chair as she recognized him. He was well known, but she had never actually met him. Her toes curled into the bottom of her black block heels, and she studied his face, looking for recognizable patterns. _Stress lines, tight jaw. Seems to be concentrating on something; otherwise emotionless. _It was hard to distinguish anything else.

M stood, fingers splayed against the polished wood of his desk. "Agent 007," the man greeted the new arrival curtly. "I don't recall my secretary notifying me of your coming."

The agent smiled briefly, his eyes emotionless. "That would be because I didn't tell her. I was informed that you wanted to see me."

M frowned and swept a steady hand over his retreating hairline. "I don't. Who told you that?"

Bond lowered his gaze for a second, as though deep in thought. "A new agent," he remarked. "Didn't catch her name. Seemed a bit... out of it." Bond raised a hand in a half-deriding motion. "I'm sorry. Shouldn't have given her a second thought."

Leah watched this exchange with steadily declining interest, and started she heard M mention her name.

"Bond, as long as you're here, might I introduce you to Miss Reilly. She's just been hired to replace Agent Bent, after the Alice Springs incident."

Leah stood respectfully and shook his proffered hand. She was almost two heads shorter than him. "Mr James Bond. I've heard a lot about you."

The agent regarded her coolly. "Thank you. Unfortunately, I can't say the same about you."

"That wasn't a compliment." She beamed rather brazenly. This was a man to be feared "I thought agents were supposed to anonymous." Leah scrutinized him for a reaction of any sort. If she was expecting an outburst, she got none.

With a tight-lipped smile, he said crisply, "Pleasure to meet you. If you'll allow me, you seem a bit young. How _old _are you, exactly?" There was a mocking tone in his voice.

Leah grimaced as his grip tightened almost painfully on her hand. "Likewise, a pleasure." She scuffed the toe of her boot along the polished floor. "You seem _very _advanced in age. How old are _you, _exactly?"

Bond's eyes narrowed to blue slits, but inclined his head slightly towards her.

M cleared his throat, and Leah turned back to him expectantly. "Miss Reilly, consider yourself hired." M nodded, his expression humorless, "You can come in tomorrow. And don't get too excited about the so-called glamor of the job. Being an Intelligence Delivery Officer is thankless and tiresome. But we've a lot for you to do, so at least you'll be paid well."

Leah dipped her head and thanked him. She walked out of the office, one hand clasped tight around her other wrist, constricting the blood. _Oh, you bloody idiot. Nice going, Leah, real nice going. Insulting a double-0 agent within seconds of closing the interview. That'll make them like you. _She twisted at her watch angrily, pushing down the fury balling in the pit of her stomach that was threatening to rear its head.

She gritted her teeth and ignored the secretary as she stalked past, who continued tapping away at her keyboard as though she wasn't there. This didn't exactly fill Leah with confidence.

She made her way out of the agency as quickly as possible. Once outside, she was hit with a gust of wind that whipped up the fallen leaves around her. Shivering and grumbling under her breath, she let her hair down from the tight bun, allowing it to spill down messily around her shoulders.

With a heavy sigh and a final glance over her shoulder at the agency's building, she made her way through the thinned-out crowd towards the nearest Underground entrance.

~:~:~§~:~:~

Shoving her key into the keyhole a little harder than necessary, she twisted viciously and let herself into her flat. Everything was as she had left it - everything wedged tightly into place, perhaps a little too uncluttered. The immediate entranceway connected directly to the kitchen and the small living room, where the late afternoon sunshine, poking its way through the fat gray clouds, streamed through the balcony windows, illuminating the polished surface of the marble table.

Leah pushed her hair back from her face with one hand and, after a moment of deliberation, went to check her voicemail on the landline. The red light flashed at her grumpily, drawing her eye. Leah stared at it for a few seconds and sighed, pressing the playback button with reluctance.

A young woman's voice, tinny through the ancient phone's speakers, blared out, ricocheting off the walls, harsh and grating._"Hey, Leah, this is Ginger and you'd better have sent my effing black tea over here. The tea here tastes terrible. Also, did you know that all Americans suck at playing football? _And _they call it 'soccer'? Weird, but you probably knew that already, you know, having spent a couple years here studying. Just calling 'cause I miss you, babe. Call me back soon, and if you haven't sent the tea yet, I'm going to kill you. Bye!" _

The room was filled with a blessed silence after the calm, prerecorded voice announced that there were no more messages. Leah smirked and crossed her arms over her chest. She hadn't sent the tea yet, and wasn't planning on doing it. Ginger had been, up to about three months ago, her college roommate. They had studied together in the US, and had planned to share the rent of a moderately-sized flat in London. Ginger was still over in America, though, and would be for the next two months, working towards her Master's in Human Resources Management, a topic Leah knew little and cared less about.

For a moment, she entertained the thought of actually going out to the shops, buying the tea blend and then shipping it all the way to the US. Then Leah shook her head, smiling to herself. _I don't even _like_ tea. _She collapsed on the white leather couch, phone in hand. Dialing Ginger's number, it went straight to voicemail.

_"Hi, this is Victoria Evans. If you don't know me as Ginger, go the hell away. If you do, leave a message and my people will contact your people as soon as I feel like it." _There was a beep.

"Ginger, this is Leah," she said calmly into the phone. "Sorry to hear that there's no one on your continent that can play a decent game of football, but I guess it's karma. You break my coffee maker with a football and suddenly no one wants to play with you. Anyways, I'm way too lazy to get up off my ass to go buy you some tea, so you'll have to make do with soda and whatever else Walmart has in stock. It's not as though nowhere in America can a decent cup of tea be made. Oh, and just so you know, I've rented out your room to a hooker called Riha with a weird obsession for peanut butter. All the stuff you've left here? Covered in Sun-Pat and Skippy. Sorry about that. Also, I broke your laptop. Turns out you _can't _throw a Mac from the fifth story and expect it to survive. We'll hold a proper funeral when you get back." Mimicking Ginger's Yorkshire accent, she added, "Just calling 'cause I miss you, babe. Bye!" She disconnected and leaned back against the cushions, wondering whether Ginger would actually believe her. Neither the renting of her flatmate's room nor the broken laptop was true, but Ginger could be gullible.

Leah stood, leaving her purse discarded carelessly on the couch, and made her way to the kitchen, grabbing the remote and switching on the television as she went. She pulled a half-eaten pork sandwich out of the fridge and pressed the _Power _button on her new coffee maker, then turned to watch some glossed-over woman ask the camera if this was end of the financial world, and to stay tuned to find out, but first here was Bob Parker with sports.

~:~:~§~:~:~

She glanced at her watch. Late. Only by ten minutes, but it was enough to make a lasting bad impression. "Hello."

The receptionist ignored her. She continued scribbling something down haphazardly on a yellow piece of paper, mumbling under her breath.

"Excuse me?"

The woman glanced up hurriedly, stress lines apparent around her eyes. "What can I help you with?" she asked quickly, looking more than a little peeved at having been interrupted.

"I'm here to, uh, start my first day."

The woman sighed sharply. "What position?"

"Intelligence Delivery." Leah scowled at the woman as she finished whatever it was she was writing with a flourish and slipped the note into a filing cabinet at her feet.

"Name and credentials?"

"Leah Reilly." Handing over the government-issued ID, she tried to make herself look as professional as possible; drawing herself up to her full height (not all that much to brag about) and straightening the grey business jacket she wore.

"Lee... O'Reilly." The woman adjusted her horn-rim glasses with a well-practiced flick of her wrist and scrolled down her computer screen. "I'm sorry, we don't seem to have you on record-"

"Le_ah_ _Reilly," _she interrupted, and bit back a cutting thought that bubbled to the surface of her mind. _My apologies, I thought even receptionists have to have fully-functional hearing before they get hired. How, exactly, did you slip past?_

"Sorry, love," the lady said dismissively, sounding the opposite of apologetic. "Reilly... Reilly... Ah, here you are. Intelligence Delivery, right?"

Leah groaned internally, but nodded stiffly, tapping two slender fingers with impatience against the counter. The receptionist glance up, irritated, and gave Leah a look over the top of her glasses, identical to the look that kindergarten teachers give naughty children, right before sending them to the corner for a time-out.

"Here." The woman leaned forward and handed her a pass. Leah didn't even glance at it as she placed it in her jacket pocket. "This'll get you through preliminary screening. Just slide it through the card-recognition devices, they'll show up as 'access granted'."

"What, no retinal scans?" Leah quipped. She was, in all aspects, attempting to be cheerful, but the receptionist gave her an 'are-you-serious?' stare.

"No. No retinal scans until you get through to the higher security parts of the building." The woman waved a hand vaguely behind her. "Right through the doors, please."

Leah turned aside and followed the direction the woman had pointed her in.

~:~:~§~:~:~

"Miss Reilly. You're late."

Leah nodded, eyes lowered guiltily. "My apologies, ma'am. Still a bit jet-lagged from my trip, I suppose."

"Mmm." She grunted in disapproval. "Take a seat."

Leah moved silently to sit down in a worn leather chair, attempting to portray more ease than she was feeling. Every nerve ending was on high alert; she hadn't been this nervous since the first day of college.

The room she sat in was large but plain; an office that was barely used, and more likely for meetings than for personal business. No attempt had been made to obscure the ventilation ducts hanging over her head, and the lighting was poor. It seemed more like an interrogation room than a briefing room.

Four other people were in the room with her. First, the woman who had spoken when she'd entered; the head of the Operational Officer branch, Judy Barlow. A small, tidy woman in her late forties who was clearly more comfortable in front of a desk than a gun. The second was a young man Leah had met twice before; once in her first interview and once when he had come to 'survey the potential', as he had said, during her brief training. His name was Mark Rolfe and he had the kind of slicked-back, rat-like look about him that let you know immediately that this was not a man to get on the bad side of. The last two were a young woman and an older man Leah knew only by surname; Rimington and Blake, and she had no idea who was who.

Rolfe stepped forward and quickly made introductions. Stacy Rimington was a tall, leggy black-haired woman who looked more like a supermodel than an agent, and Jack Blake was an experienced officer within the division, a handsome but bored-looking man in his thirties.

"Now that we're all well and acquainted, let's get down to business, shall we?" Barlow spoke with a certainty that made Leah smile; this woman knew how to boss others around. "Reilly, as you were indisposed to come in on time" - Leah cringed - "I have already briefed Blake and Rimington, but this file should suffice." At this, she snapped her fingers and Rolfe reached into his briefcase. He pulled out a lemon-colored packet and pushed it across the long business table towards Leah, who picked it up and opened it, barely glancing at the contents. Barlow leaned forwards, continuing.

"Normally, we wouldn't send inexperienced agents such as Rimington and yourself out into the field. However, due to exceptional circumstance..." at this she paused, and for a moment a shadow crossed her face. Leah noted this in silence; she hadn't been told what had happened to the seven agents during 'the Alice Springs incident', but something told her it hadn't exactly been trials for the netball team.

"Due to exceptional circumstance, our branch is now too small to be lenient as to whom we send out, and we will be sending the two of you to Washington, DC with Blake. Mission priority is to amass as much information as you can. Names, dates and motives, but do not interfere with the proceedings directly. I don't think I have to remind you that _none_ of you possess a license to kill." In her peripheral vision, Leah sensed Blake tense up. She ignored it, waiting as Barlow paused for breath and Rolfe took over. "Your flight leaves tomorrow morning, five a.m. I suggest you make your way home, pack and cancel any appointments you have in the next week."

Blake nodded and with a respectful but unnecessary salute, left the room. After watching him leave, Rimington turned and inclined her head towards Rolfe.

"So, we aren't going to be handed any high-tech gadgets, are we, sir?"

Barlow smirked and winked good-naturedly at Stacy. "Forget most of the things you've assumed about MI6 from whatever spy novels you've read." When Rimington looked somewhat crestfallen, Barlow made a circular gesture with her hand and sighed. "Not to say there isn't some truth in them, but we're not really the branch to go to if you're in the market for umbrella dart guns or mobile phone shoes. However..." She hesitated and nodded to Rolfe, who reached into his briefcase again, rooting around for a minute before pulling out two tiny earpieces. He offered one to Rimington and the other to Leah, who inspected it at a closer angle.

"Bionic hearing amplifiers," Rolfe announced, looking proud. "Normally we would have the Quartermaster or one of his underlings introduce the earpieces to you, but it's a busy time for them, what with half the agency dealing with the mess that that snake Silva left behind."

Leah had no idea who 'Silva' was, so she just bobbed her head up and down and made a noise of agreement. She resolved to ask someone higher up in MI6 who he was later.

Barlow made to leave, but at the door she paused, tapping her fingers against the hardwood. "It occurs to me, Reilly, that you have no idea what we're talking about. Everything you need is in the file. _Don't," _she said as Leah opened her mouth to interrupt, "lose it, under any circumstances."

"Should I eat it after reading?" Leah asked sarcastically, an eyebrow raised. Rimington stared at her.

Barlow glanced her up and down, as though trying to discern whether or not she was being serious. Finally, she said, "That would be advised, yes," and left.

Leah rolled her eyes. Looking to her left, she scowled at Rimington, who was still gaping at her.

"Jo_king_," Leah muttered testily, and stalked out.

~:~:~§~:~:~

Q reached over to the kettle and poured himself another cup of tea, glancing up at the clock as he did so. He had half an hour before he was due at the office, and he was still in a bathrobe. He flinched and swore under his breath as the kettle jerked and the hot liquid sloshed onto his hand.

Wincing, he stood and rubbed the skin, already turning a tasteful shade of bright red. He ran it under a stream of cold water as his phone began to buzz. Picking it up with his other hand, he unlocked the smartphone to read the text, clenching his jaw as he recognized the name.

_Hey wanna hang out l8er? Dan hooked me up with two tickets to see Phantom of the Opra 2nite._

_~ Madi ;) 3_

Q rolled his eyes. "Not interested," he said out loud to no one.

Madeleine was a friend of a 'friend' who had met him once at a party and tried to flirt with him (he hadn't stayed long). She was pretty enough, but very much the overprotective type that he could see a mile off. He deleted Madeleine's text and turned the television on, watching with wavering interest.

_"-and that case will continue to ebb in the following weeks, but the defendant's lawyer has released a statement that promises swift rebuttal. More on that as news comes in. Next up, yet another blast has rocked the USA as a 'dud bomb' is found in an abandoned backpack on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Authorities were immediately called in to investigate the fifth dead explosive this week. All five have been found near famous American buildings scattered around the country, and all five have been safely apprehended before detonating. We have a Dr Theodore O'Connor here in the studio with us today to discuss the strange nature of these attacks. Dr O'Connor, thank you for being here today." _The redheaded newscaster with an absolutely magnificent bust glanced sideways at a thin, tweedy little man who sat scrunched up in his seat, staring down at his hands and occasionally opening and closing his mouth with no sound. Eventually, a quiet 'thank you for having me' was issued from him, and the newsgirl popped a question about a motive for the attacks.

Q leaned against the kitchen table, watching the screen flicker from over the counter. He had read about the incident, and theories on who or what could be behind the strikes. Of course, the FBI would be all over the incident, especially since it had happened almost half a dozen times now and they _still _didn't have a suspect, but he enjoyed forming his own opinions as to whodunnit.

_"So the world has seemed to accept as a whole that -" _The girl paused and squinted at someone off-camera for all of six seconds, probably reading a cue-card. The doctor fidgeted awkwardly in his chair as he waited, and after a moment the spell was broken and the redhead turned back to him, her silicon breasts bouncing perkily as she made the movement. Q snorted into his tea mug as Dr O'Connor's eyes snapped towards the newscaster's chest and away, clasping and unclasping his hands in a neurotic motion. "_- all of these attacks have been made by the same person, whether or not they are acting alone or with help from a larger organization. What do you have to say, as an expert on this matter?"_

Shaking his head, Q reached over the table-top for the most recent edition of _the Daily Telegraph, _nearly tipping a plate of nibbled-at toast off the edge. Flipping to the second page, he scanned down the lines of text for anything of interest. Another politician had died of a heart attack. Another celebrity had cheated. Another religion was pissed-off. And, of course, extensive coverage of the bombs that hadn't exploded.

His phone buzzed again. Checking the screen, he groaned aloud.

_Hey buddi - respond plz! _

_~ Madz_

With a few practiced, exasperated movements, he fired back a message.

_Madelaine. Stop texting me. _

Less than a minute later, she responded.

_:'( Come on bro, come w/ me. Don't be boring!_

He sighed, and sent a final message, typing quickly and decisively.

_SERVICE ERROR 298: MESSAGE DELIEVERY TO RECIPENT FAILED PERMANENTLY. FURTHER MESSAGES WILL BE CHARGED DIRECTLY TO YOUR ACCOUNT._

There. Had she been someone smarter, he might have been forced to take more drastic measures. As it was, that should have deterred her. Satisfied, Q turned back to the newspaper.

What the news had failed to mention, he noticed approvingly, was the existence of five strange notes pinned to the inside lining of the backpacks. According to the head of the FBI's counterterrorism branch, the existence of the notes had been assigned to a need-to-know list basis only. Many of the world's governments and secrets services had been on that basis, and Q knew as a result of that. The .jpeg photo attachments that the FBI had delivered to them per MI6's request had been cold, clear and haunting.

The first note had read _Into thin air._

The second _Weapon._

The third _No escape._

The fourth _Death to all against us._

The fifth: _Don't live in denial. The devil is coming._

It had to be the same man, Q was sure of it. Though he had never met the agent personally, Q knew his story. And if it was Oliver Denial behind the threats, MI6 could expect a merciless vengeance.

But it wasn't any of MI6's business - not yet, anyways, and until then, he could be relied upon to stay out of it.

Feeling something cold creep down his spine, Q shook it off and turned the volume up. Finishing his tea quickly, he checked the clock again to find that he had six minutes to get dressed and get to work.

Only as he was straightening his tie in front of the bathroom mirror ten minutes later did he realize today was Monday.

He groaned and scratched irritatedly at his well-shaven chin. "Just lie low," he muttered to his reflection, "and she'll never know you're there. Straight to Q Branch and no socializing, and there's no way Leah'll see you." Not socializing wouldn't be a problem; he was used to burying himself in his work and only exchanging polite acknowledgments of greetings from his co-workers.

~:~:~§~:~:~

_Classified_

_Mission Briefing ~ Branch: Intelligence Delivery Officer_

_Do Not Duplicate or Make Notes_

_Background_

_• Spectre_

_The SPecial Executive for Counter-intelligence, Terrorism, Revenge and Extortion is a global terrorist network that was led by Ernst Stavro Blofeld with headquarters in Paris, France. Their crimes include hijacking of American and British weaponry, illegal espionage, murder, kidnapping and nuclear blackmail. They were disbanded through the work of double-0 agents in the 1990s, and have not resurfaced since._

_• Quantum_

_Quantum is another criminal organization, and is connected to the highest circles of government and corporate power in the world. Specializing in terrorist attacks designed to accumulate as much world power as possible, it was retreated significantly in size since MI6's agents have made a series of significant attacks._

The report went on to describe Spectre's and Quantum's various collaborations, but Leah knew about most of them, having done her homework before giving her interviews. She scanned down the page until she came to a term that she hadn't seen before.

**_Diablo_**

_Certain former members of Quantum are believed to be in hiding, attempting to build themselves up again. Special intelligence tells us that this new 'organization' is known as Diablo, building itself up around the morals that Quantum and Spectre held. No information is currently held as to the top members of the group, but it is assured that Diablo endeavors to gain world power, just as its predecessor, and is willing to undertake any means to do so._

_• Suspect: Agent Oliver Denial_

_Although it is not confirmed, it is believed that Special Agent Oliver Denial is the new leader or high-standing member Diablo. Denial is a former agent of MI5 who worked in the anti-terrorist branch, and after departing the agency in disgrace in 2005, disappeared from all records. We have reason to believe that Denial has gone rogue and has joined forces with the aforementioned anonymous members of Quantum. Two years ago, the respective heads of MI6 and MI5 each received an email which had surpassed the firewalls protecting their computers. The emails each contained a Trojan horse virus that infiltrated the hardware of the computers, bringing up the message 'DON'T LIVE IN DENIAL. THE DEVIL IS COMING.' _

_Mission Priorities_

_Flight to Washinton, D.C., USA at 0500 hours. November 27th, Four Seasons, 2100 hours. A charity banquet will be held in the Rose Function Room. It is being posed as the Masquerade Ball and Silent Auction for Habitat for Humanity, but intelligence tells us that it is in reality a gathering for potential members of Diablo. _

_i. Identify the leading men and women of the organization. Collect voice recordings, DNA samples photographs to be taken back to the agency for identification. _

_ii. Attempt to discern a motive or a next move for Diablo._

_• Do not compromise your position should the situation turn towards life-threatening._

_S_he pulled a small headshot of Agent Oliver Denial out of the packet. A handsome man, with a hooked nose and crystal blue eyes not unlike her own stared at her, frozen and glossy. He had probably undergone some sort of plastic surgery since his dismissal from the service.

_Yeah, and one more thing, _she thought as she carefully slotted the photograph into its plastic casing and stood up from the hard plastic chair in the cafeteria. _Don't die._

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. Leah turned to meet the steady but somewhat unnerving green gaze of Stacy Rimington.

"Hey, Reilly, I was thinking-"

"Always a dangerous activity," Leah remarked, airily sliding over the other woman's words. She didn't like Rimington much, and intended to make that as clear as possible. "I avoid it at all costs."

Stacy smirked. "Clearly. Anyways, earpieces are cool, but not really what I signed up for."

Leah crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight from foot to foot. "You signed up with MI6 for the _gadgets?"_

For a moment, she looked confused. "Well, yeah, didn't you grow up reading stories about... what's-her-name, Mata Hari and people?" Her accent was slightly lilted; she sounded vaguely American, and her language was highly informal for an agent.

"What, that Dutch lady who was executed for spying for the Germans?" Leah cocked an eyebrow and scratched her nose. "No, not really. Besides, I doubt she used high-technology gadgets-"

Stacy grabbed at her elbow, and Leah flinched away. "_My point being, _Reilly, that they've got devices squirreled away somewhere that could be _very _useful over in the US, if you catch my drift." Stacy winked clumsily.

"No. Uh, no thanks." Leah turned to go, wrenching her arm out of Rimington's grip with some effort.

"Well..." Stacy glanced at her boots and laced her hands behind her back. "I'll bet there's some really good junk hidden in the Quartermaster's office." She paused, smiling, then continued, her voice laced with something dangerous. "Reilly, there's nothing you'd like better than to loot Q's office, hmm?"

Leah turned quickly, eyebrows brought down low together. "How...?" She paused, trying to read the other woman's face. True to her occupation, Stacy's expression gave away nothing. "Hmm. Rimington," she began again with caution, "how exactly do you come to that conclusion?" Her voice was laced with poisoned sweetness.

Stacy looked taken aback for a moment. She recovered herself quickly. "Trust me, Leah," she said smoothly, "I've got a degree in Quantitative Behavioral Ecology. I've studied body language for years. I can tell."

Leah opened her mouth to retort, then shrugged. As far as she could tell, Rimington was either incredibly smart or incredibly stupid. Besides, if the lady knew where Q's office was, what was the harm in just _looking _for an exploding pen?

~:~:•:~:~

_A/N: Disclaimer: Don't own Skyfall, or Bondy or Q or M or MI6... (I would continue, but I think you get the idea)  
Song at the beginning is an excellent little number by Mika called 'We are Golden'.  
Kudos to the wonderful smurfs who've reviewed; thank you, guys! Just imagine me yelling compliments and things to you across the chasm that is the internet.  
__Thanks for reading the second chapter, and please review for more! The more reviews/follows/alerts I get, the more incited I am to write a new chapter. Tell your friends, tell your family, come one, come all (*shameless promotion etc.*)!  
Insert Something Inspirational Here,  
MockingjayWolf_


	3. Chapter 3

**Bedevilment**

_Those thieving birds  
__Hang strung from an empty nest  
This swan plagued pond  
Forsaken and under whelmed  
Those leaving words  
Hang strong from an emptiness  
Hang strong from an emptiness  
Those thieving birds  
Hang strung from an empty nest_

_This is tearing me apart  
If the sun won't shine  
Forever will never be fine  
Underneath the hollow ground  
Lies a night time sky  
For only a desperate eye_

**Chapter Three  
**

**All the Good Junk**

Leah glanced up and down the length of the entranceway. "Amateur. Can't even lock his door properly."

Rimington grinned and unwrapped a stick of gum she pulled out of her coat pocket. "What's the matter with _you, _Reilly? He do something to you?" Her accent clipped slightly, and Leah paused, trying to place it. American, almost New Jersey in its tones. Then, her voice slipped back to the Oxford inflections that Leah had heard from Rimington before. "You've really got a chip on your shoulder, huh?"

She snickered and pulled Q's office door open. "CCTV cameras there and... over in that corner," Leah said mildly, gesturing towards both cameras as she picked them out.

Rimington poked her head in. "So, no audio?"

Leah scrutinized the closest camera, looking for any tell-tale microphones. "No." The cameras didn't pick up sound. In fact, they didn't even appear to be switched on.

"There's no red light," Rimington mused, following her gaze. "They're not on."

Leah raised her eyes. "Clearly."

"I don't know..." Rimington stepped over the threshold of the doorway and glanced about, "...if this is a great idea."

Leah made a noise of disgust from behind Stacy. "It was _your _idea, Rimington."

"I know. But it feels petty, you know?"

"Oh, move aside." Leah fairly shoved the other woman aside. "I just want to know if he keeps anything worth knowing about." She moved to the centre of the office, and ignoring the cameras, pulled open the top drawer of the chestnut desk. She paused, hand hovering over the contents.

Riminton blinked and moved a few steps closer. "Find anything interesting?"

"Nothing in particular," she replied distantly, and rifled through the various files, all ecru-colored or thereabouts. Boring titles lined the top of the alphabetized folders, label-maker-made and the black lettering almost worn-down from handling.

_No pornography. So far, he's just as insipid as I thought._

There weren't even cutesy little brother or sister drawings propped up by frames on the desk. No photos at all, in fact. No smiling and cliched ex-girlfriends. No grainy black-and-whites of long-dead great-something-or-others who served as inspiration for a 'My Hero' project in grade school. Not even a single group shot of his immediate relatives. It was like he had no family at all.

It might have been sad, if it had been someone else. As it was, Leah felt a strange sense of satisfaction rise up. Quelling it, she turned to the top of the desk. It was completely bare, except for a mug and an old-fashioned ball-point pen that lay forlornly, nearly tipped off the edge of the desk.

Picking it up (and hoping that it would be what she thought it was), Leah was disappointed to see a gold-stenciled logo on the side, a famous brand that had nothing to do with detonations. Even so... She clicked the button on the top of the pen. Nothing.

"Doesn't he have _anything _worthwhile?" Rimington asked suddenly, startling her. Disgruntled, Leah rolled her eyes.

"Ob_vious_ly. He's hidden it well. He didn't get hired by MI6 to leave all the good junk just lying around." To be honest, she was seriously doubting that there was any 'good junk' in the office at all. Why wouldn't it be down in the actual Q branch labs? Leah just hoped that Q was the sentimental type, the sort of man who kept trinkets in his office, to take out and stare nostalgically at.

Somehow, that didn't seem likely.

There was a soft exclamation of delight from across the room. Stacy was bent over, black hair falling into her face, pawing at a small, rather old-fashioned chest nestled in the corner of the room. "Jackpot, I think." She cracked open the lid and coughed violently as a puff of long-settled dust exploded into her face. "Okay... _hurgh" -_ she cleared her throat urgently and continued in a croaking voice - "maybe not. This dust... _urrrg_..." She trailed off and hacked again, nearly hawking onto the floor, and Leah resisted the urge to voice her disgust, waiting patiently for Rimington to finish choking to death loudly.

"No one's been in this chest for a while." She cracked a grin at Leah. Her smile seemed to be grime-stained. "Maybe he was a pirate in a past life, huh?"

Leah frowned disapprovingly. "Or maybe that dust is just a guard-dog to deter nosy parkers, eh?" She kneeled down next to the chest. It didn't seem like the orthodox thing to keep in an office, but what did she know? She had never had an office herself, so there could be juggling gorillas and waltzing guinea-pigs behind those immaculate, slightly threatening corporation doors for all she cared.

"No umbrella dart guns, my arse," she muttered irritatedly, but biting her lower lip to keep a small squeak of excitement from escaping. Leah didn't want to show it, but she felt a childish thrill run up her back at the sight of old, dusty gadgets piled haphazardly on top of each other within the chest.

Rimington groaned and stood up, her voice still a rasp. "I don't know what I was expecting," she said, glancing grumpily at her watch.

"I guess everything worth a damn is kept under lock, key and laser in some secret vault in Bolivia," Leah replied distantly, too pleased with the objects in the chest for her own good. She picked up a small, particularly tame-looking suitcase and pressed the blue button on top.

Instantly a shock wave coursed through her body, frying her nerves and making every hair on her body stand on end. She dropped the case with a muffled curse.

Rimington snickered. "What was it they taught you in elementary school not to press weird-looking buttons, Reilly? Voltage suitcase, who'da thunk it, hmm?"

Leah shook her head and stood shakily, straightening her non-existent cufflinks. The shock had knocked all the breath out of her lungs, and she was having trouble forming a comprehensible thought.

Eventually, she managed to gasp, "Lovely." Stooping down, she replaced the suitcase (overly wary of the now lethal-looking button) and picked up a pen from the bottom of the pile of outdated gadgets. "Yes." She grinned triumphantly, her speech restored, stowing the ballpoint in a jacket pocket for later. "Exploding pen."

"Are you sure you don't want to test it first?" Stacy asked innocently, bending down to snatch up a medium-sized black flashlight, inspecting it at a close angle.

Leah sniffed disdainfully, moving away from the other woman. "Rimington, you are living proof that, if there is a God, he has a great sense of humor."

She scoffed and looked away. "Whatever." Moving to Q's desk, Rimington idly picked up a discarded tea mug with a Scrabble letter hand-painted onto it. Noticing it for the first time, Leah felt a smug sense of satisfaction. So he still liked that stupid game. Good. It would have made her letter all the more cutting.

"Cute," Rimington mumbled, playing with the mug, tilting it upside-down so that a few remaining drops of stone-cold liquid splashed pathetically to the floor.

Leah turned her back and shut the chest again. "We'd better get out of here before someone comes in."

"Fine," Rimington agreed sourly, following her out the door.

Leah walking purposefully forwards, pulling her phone out of her pocket to make it look to curious scientists passing by as though she was busy.

She ran smack into someone and stumbled backwards.

"Oh, jeez, I'm sorry, I should have been looking-"

"No, my fault, I wasn't paying attention-" Leah glanced up, abashed, and her eyes widened.

Q looked at her evenly, slightly concerned, but without a flicker of recognition. "Sorry, what were you two doing in my _private _office?"

Behind her, Rimington glanced away and ground her teeth, incensed; she hadn't shut the door all the way on her way out.

Leah stared at Q for a moment, paralyzed, feeling less like a deer in headlights and more like a criminal resigned to death-row.

He was good-looking. Fetching, even.

_What? _

People you abhorred weren't supposed to be _cute_, they were supposed to be fat and-or ugly geezers with bad breath and terrible grammar structure.

There was a certain air of nerdiness about him, but it a stylish, sophisticated branch of geek that Leah had only seen in magazines. The sweater-vest and tie made her wince, but the glasses and meticulously tousled hair were unexpected.

_Bloody hell. _Her subconscious crossed its figurative arms and gave her mind a well-placed kick. _Say something intelligible and biting. And answer his question, while you're at it. Something witty and clever will do, I should think._

"Q," she heard herself say brightly. "It is _nice _to see you too." She beamed and ducked under his arm, fixing her vaguely-unfocused gaze on the nearest escape route.

_Right, that's it. You're on your own, you bint. _Her psyche, with all the drama of a blown-budget actress, flounced out. _Out of all the cruel, cutting things you could have said, you choose an indistinctly sarcastic greeting?_

"Wait... you!" He grabbed at her arm, and she wrenched it out of his weak grip easily, glaring at him. Taken aback, he turned on Riminton. "And you... answer my question. What _exactly _were you doing in my office?"

Rimington looked lost for words for all of two seconds. She straightened up and brushed her silky black curtain of hair over one shoulder. "I have to say, I wasn't expecting this much push-back, Quartermaster, when it was you who issued the command."

"What?"

"I'm Sally Wren. I'm interning as a administrator before I finish college. Miss, ah, Moneypenny requested that I come down here and find you to inform you that M no longer needs to see you today." Rimington lied like it was a gift, smiling absently in a way that meant her mind was working on another backup lie, just in case.

"Right, well, M didn't ask to see me at all," Q replied, looking irritated but less angry. "And even if he did, that gives you no right at all to enter my office. It is a common law of courtesy that-"

Leah couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as Q continued talking. Was he lecturing them? Like a slightly pissed-off teacher with a bunch of sugared-up six year-olds, he _was. _She gave a sharp sigh and cut him off.

"Look, my _friend _is very sorry-" she made a frantic _get out of here and send a helicopter to rescue me while he's distracted _sign to Rimington behind her own back, so that Q couldn't see it "-and she will never do it again. Bloody interns, huh?" she said cheerfully.

"Quite." He glanced her up and down, sizing her up, trying to decide whether she was of a higher power than he. "Sorry, Miss...?"

_Moment of truth. _"Leah Reilly. Pleasure to see you again, Q."

For a moment, it looked as though he genuinely didn't remember her, replying icily, "Charmed..." Then Q froze abruptly. "Reilly? Leah Reilly?"

"That's what it says on my birth certificate, yes." She frowned mockingly, taking gleeful advantage of the silence that hung heavily in the air. "To be honest, Q, I'd have thought you'd've possessed better manners after all these years." Her cocky bravado was seeping back quickly and she intended to enjoy every second of it.

He could only stare at her, mouth trying and failing to form comprehensive words.

Leah exhaled despairingly. "Well, say _some_thing!"

Q blinked once or twice. "I wasn't - wasn't exactly expecting to see you... here," he finally managed, looking flustered. His left hand swung self-consciously up to sweep over his unkempt shock of hair.

Leah narrowed her eyes sourly. "Did you even get my little welcome message?" Sparks shot from her glare.

"The letter?" Q was fumbling for a coherent answer. He had been convinced that Leah hadn't meant MI6, and now that she was here, after so many years, still with that self-same angled smirk that he had found so distasteful in his school years plastered onto her features, he had no idea how to react.

"Yes." Leah brought her nails up to her eye-line in a well-practiced movement. "I know traditionally older workers give newbies a welcoming gift, but I know how clandestine this organization is, and how names aren't usually given. You wouldn't know that I was coming to work, so I pulled a few strings and got a few names, including yours." She grinned. "Trust me, I was pretty surprised. I just couldn't help myself." She wrinkled her nose in a shoddy semblance of a sneer.

Q didn't move for a few seconds, thinking. Sure, she had been pretty in sixth form - you couldn't have been popular without _some _measure of good looks - but it had been a pixie-ish kind of pretty, more 'cute' than anything else. Now... well, she was beautiful, per say, but not his type. He tended to go for the sort of girl who would actually listen to you, not laugh in your face and tell you to go bugger yourself.

Now was not the time for placidity. "Go away, Reilly. I don't need you getting in my way right now," he replied coldly, pushing the thought of the Scrabble pillows out of his mind.

Leah laughed out loud. "Go bugger yourself." Her lip curled and she flashed him another mirthless smile.

Q's hands curled into fists at his sides. "I assume you're about to be sent on a mission, then?"

"How do you know?" she asked, looking sideways at him.

"I have access to most files in MI6's database," Q said, almost cockily. Then, more suspiciously, "Did you take _anything _from my office?"

"Oh, Q." Leah sighed and laid a hand to her forehead dramatically, ducking around him again. "Have a little faith, shouldn't you?"

"A little faith, absolutely. In you-" he regarded her coolly "-_no. _Try not to break anything important on your way out."

She smirked. "I'll try. I've been insulted worse by better." She raised both her eyebrows. "See you around, then?" she called over her shoulder brightly, swooping down the corridor, around a bend and out of sight.

~:~:•:~:~

_A/N: The song is Those Thieving Birds, by Silverchair. Thanks so much for reading, please review, and etc.! And a million bajillion thanks to Wolfshadows32 for the AMAZING cover!__  
Blah blah blah,  
MockingjayWolf_


	4. Chapter 4

**Bedevilment**

_Take what you need and leave the rest_  
_No, I don't mind, no, I don't mind_  
_I'll get this off my chest_  
_There's nowhere else I'd rather be_

_Come flying in, and then again_  
_I'm not here long enough to pretend that I seem so well_  
_There's nowhere else you'd rather be_

_Like a humming bird in flight you are_  
_Hovering, hovering 'round me_  
_And I move near you fly away_

_(Alex Clare, Hummingbird)_

**Chapter Four**

"_Attention, ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We will be landing at Dulles International Airport in approximately fifteen minutes' time. The time there currently is 7:21pm, and it will be a toasty seventy-six degrees outside. Please return your seats to the upright landing position, and stow all dinner and tray tables." _There was a pause and a crackle over the speaker, igniting a collective cringe by the passengers of the aircraft._"Cabin crew, please prepare the cabin for landing."_

"Have you ever heard an commercial flight pilot refer to a temperature as 'toasty'?"

"Never. It seems rather strange," Jack Blake answered distantly, humoring her.

Leah leaned back into her first-class seat, begrudgingly fingering the 'upright-position' button. Never had she actually travelled First Class before, and like hell was she going to give it up. Eight hours and five or six 'complimentary' glasses of bubbly, golden champagne later, she was convinced that she was at least under the influence of some sort of hallucinogenic drug, especially when Blake leaned over with a patiently strained smile and traded her seventh not-yet-drunk glass for a quietly hissed warning not to touch another drop of alcohol until they were at the hotel.

"One would think they could have at least sprung for a private jet," Rimington mumbled grumpily from the other side of Blake, rubbing at her neck.

"Sorry, Stace," Leah shot back in a low undertone. "Not all of us were born with a silver spoon shoved up our backsides."

Rimington's scowl was murderous, but she lapsed into a defeated silence.

"You know, Reilly," Blake put in to fill the stony silence, judging that the other passengers around them were immersed enough into their on-demand movies that it was safe to talk, "you're very crude, for your occupation."

Leah shrugged, giving a rueful smile. "Nature versus nuture, I guess - or in my case, the combination of the two."

"Oh?" Blake's tone was an invitation to continue, although the striking man looked anything but interested.

"My father was an businessman who spends much of his time with his mistress over in France. Mumsy Dearest was a fool with a habit of spending far too much time down at the track. She died a few years back, of alcohol poisoning." She stoically waved away Blake's attempt at a condolence. "My older brother, Scott, was smart and got out of Emmbrook the second he graduated. Callie - my elder sister, Scott's twin - eloped ages ago with an Irishman called Jonathan. Lots of names, but I'll spare you the rest of the cliched sob story."

"Thank God for that," Rimington remarked coolly, focusing her attention on resetting her watch to the right time.

Blake grumbled something incoherent and snapped his sleeping mask back over his eyes. Leah snorted and tightened her seatbelt as the airplane jolted.

~:~:~§~:~:~

Leah pushed a carefully curled strand of auburn hair out of her eyes and tried to focus through the misty haze that enveloped the room. Or maybe that was just the champagne.

Blake passed by her without a second glance. "Denial should be making a speech sometime soon. I'm recording it, and Rimington's getting a photo for the labs, but I need you to get information, maybe even a DNA sample if you can find him in this crowd. Start with those men sitting at the centre table. They're intoxicated, but one of them might be Denial, or know who he is." His voice buzzed quietly in her left ear, where her earpiece was nestled. Swiftly, Blake excused himself from the three women he was chatting to across the room, and made his way towards her.

As he passed by, he pressed something tiny and smooth into her hand. Out of the corner of his mouth, he muttered, "Get a saliva sample from the reddish-brown haired man with the glasses. I'm convinced that's Denial, but I've been wrong before. The tube will do its work."

Quickly, she nodded affirmation in Blake's general direction, turned on her heel and glided off to the centre table, gaudily adorned with cheap fake flowers and three very drunk, very rich-looking businessmen. On her way, she nonchalantly popped the minuscule tube into her mouth, tucking it neatly underneath her tongue, where it clicked into place, its tiny grips moulding temporarily to the back of her bottom teeth.

Before getting too close, she plucked a tray from the hands of a startled waiter and walked up to the table, presenting the champagne flutes to the men. "Any drinks, sirs?" she asked, careful to keep her accent vaguely American.

A man with a faint mustache and black sideburns raised a hand. "Yeah. Hand 'er one," he slurred, grabbing at the flute as Leah leaned back to avoid the smell of his breath, lip curled in distaste.

Another man, with carefully pressed coppery hair, spectacles perched on the end of his nose and who looked slightly less tipsy than the other two, leaned forwards, staring at Leah. "You're not a server," he intoned, in a playfully conspiratorial tone. "I see it; you're a ball guest who wants to get up close and personal" - he patted his lap and smirked - "with the fat cats of the industry. Am I right?"

Leah smiled but said nothing. The man took this as confirmation. "Well, then," he said, stretching his arms over his head laboriously. "The missus is at home, looking after the kids. What's the harm in telling you a little about what I do?"

Before Leah could respond, the third man broke in with a loud guffaw. "Oh, shut yer mouth, Dominic Grant, you don't have a missus!"

The second man, Dominic, wore a paper-thin smile. "Guilty as charged, I suppose," he said through gritted teeth. "Never mind that, though - what's your name?" he asked suddenly, turning back to Leah.

"Annette Mingenbach," she said without a second thought.

"'Mingenbach'?" The first man chuckled and downed the champagne like water. "Lady, when they were handing out last names you sure got chucked a shitty bas-"

_"Anyways," _Grant hissed, throwing a venomous look at his friend, "Annette is a very pretty name. Why don't you come over here and we can discuss my occupation?" He slapped his lap again, grinning like a cheshire cat.

Leah's smile dripped with sickly-sweet poison as she sat down next to Dominic - deftly avoiding his slightly wavering hand as he made a swift grab for her waist to pull her down - and asked him meekly what it was exactly that he did.

Loudly, Grant burst out laughing. "Sweetheart, you have got to be the only lady in the room who has no idea who I am!"

Burning with irritation, she resisted the urge to get up and leave, instead positioning herself closer to the man, leaning against him. Wrinkling her nose slightly at the faint reek of anchovies on his breath, she giggled, "Well, why don't you tell me and we'll _all _be in the know?"

Suddenly, Grant froze, his eyes locked onto hers. His gaze was a vicious azure, sharp and piercing. Leah was paralyzed under his stare, more like a cat who knew its ninth life was up than a deer in headlights. For a moment, Dominic Grant's frown swallowed her, his eyes inching over every part of her face, as though he were memorizing her features.

Swallowing, she fluttered her ridiculously long (and almost entirely fake) lashes at him and asked, "Is anything wrong?"

Grant didn't move as he scrutinized her and answered, "No, it's just tha-" He choked as one of his associates slapped him on the back. The spell was broken. Grant's glower disappeared and a shadow of a smirk crossed his face. "Nah. I just like to know who I'm talking to, Miss Mingenbach. I have quite the knack for memorizing faces."

"Really?" She smiled and gave a girly titter - all for show, thank God - "Well, I think you're trying to get off-topic. Come on. What do you do? Marketing? Real estate? One of those charity-type guys?" she wheedled, plastering a whining undertone to her voice for the full effect.

Dominic exchanged an amused glance with the friend to his left, who let out a gigantic fart and roared with laughter. Grant, curling his lip, turned back to Leah and asked in a soft tone, "Tell me, Annette, did you ever go to college?"

"See?" she burst in, beaming, but inwardly getting more and more frustrated. "You're trying not to reveal anything. Answer the question."

"You first," he challenged, absently waving to a waiter to bring over more wine.

She sighed theatrically. "No. I never got past the tenth grade," she lied, knitting her brows together and leaning her head on his shoulder, hoping the physical contact would loosen his tongue - this man was hiding something, but as he was the most sober man sitting at the table, he was the most likely to not tell her anything. From the looks of things, though, the other two men were underlings trying to get ahead - drinking for the courage to show off in front of their boss. "Not that that has to do with anything. I'm here on _Daddy's_ money." She waggled her eyebrows at him as he nodded knowingly. "Okay. Now you. What's your job? Mineral? Vegetable?" She forced herself to chuckle at her own terrible joke.

Dominic rolled his neck to the side, cracking it. "Quite the persistent one, aren't we? Nah, I guess you could say I'm in the environmental business. A tycoon, of sorts. Otherwise I wouldn't be here."

"A tycoon? _I've _never heard of you."

"Yes, well-" Grant's fingers fluttered, choosy, over a waiter's tray, before selecting another flute of red wine and sipping at it sparingly "-I'm a rather secretive sort of man, Miss Mingenbach. But I have great things in store for my company and this country."

"Oh, really?" Keeping curious eye contact with the good-looking man, she moved closer. "Great things, hmm?" _This is for you, Queen and Country. You'd better be bloody grateful._

Kissing him was, admittedly, not altogether unpleasant. Grant had clearly had experience, and he was handsome in a hawkish sort of way, but Leah tried very hard to ignore the sniggering of Grant's colleagues in the background and focus on collecting the sample. She placed her hand around the back of Grant's neck At her gentle insistence, his mouth opened. Anchovies and - was that _garlic? - _filled her mouth, making her clench her left fist to suppress the gag reflex. But there was a little click, almost like gears grinding, inside her mouth that alerted her to the fact that the tube had done its job. Pulling away, she smiled ruefully at Dominic. "Was it too short?"

He appeared about as winded as she was: so, not at all. He returned her sheepish look with no sincerity. "Not bad. Although I have to admit, upon further investigation, you're not quite my type, my dear."

_Well, that was over quick. _Leah let a small sob escape her mouth as she 'struggled' to hold back tears, a woebegone look crossing her face. _Thank the heavens for that. _

Dominic clicked his tongue, but started slightly when his name was called by the portly man standing at a podium on the stage at the front of the room. Grant turned back to Leah. "That's my cue. Maybe now's a good time to let you know that I'm married to my job?"

Leah, conjuring an image of the day her mother had discovered her father's mistress, allowed a single tear to roll down her cheek and plop prettily onto the white tablecloth. Dominic looked apologetic, but pushed his chair back and walked away, towards the stage.

Grant's faint-mustached friend grinned from ear to ear and leaned his elbows on the table. "I wounn't worry too much about it, sweetie," he rasped. "Ol' Dom's got a new girl at 'is beck-'n-call every night. He likes 'em fast, cheap and easy. Ne'er wants to settle down, that one. He prob'ly doesn't even remember yur name by now." The man gestured at Grant, who was shuffling some speech papers at the front of the room, ducking his head modestly as a light splatter of applause filled the room.

"Thank you," Leah told the man dryly, moving away from him even as he scooted his chair closer to her, "for that pointless bit of information. Have a nice night." Throwing the man a well-placed scowl that read clearly _Don't follow me, _she stood and glided away, feeling relatively pleased with herself, if a little in need of mouthwash to get the taste of common salt-water forage fish out of her mouth.

Making a face, she nodded at Blake as he looked up expectantly. He smiled, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly, as Grant began to speak.

~:~:~§~:~:~

"It's him. I'm certain. All we need is confirmation from the lab." Blake spoke in a low voice, extending a hand to help Rimington step precariously over a small puddle of water on the sidewalk. Leah walked around it, heels clicking against the pavement.

_I am certain, that with time and cooperation, we can all achieve our ends. _Applause. _I have to say, over the last few months, it hasn't been easy. I know that the good members of Habitat for... _He checked his cue card._ ...Humanity have gone above and beyond the call of duty this years helping me and my associates launch our grassroots organization off the ground. God knows we needed the help. _An appreciate chuckle. _What can we expect for the future? Something that will change the world, ladies and gentlemen, and know that we will be in a very sought-after position once this plan has been enacted. My company's focus has always been on the environment, and be safe in the thought that we are doing everything we can to push the long-harbored secrets we've kept down in our bio labs out into the open air. Trust me when I say this, the majority of the population of the world will be in a better place once we're finished. _Another laugh, and cheers.

"Everyone in that room was either a member of Diablo or aiding the organization indirectly," Leah mused out loud.

"Blake, Reilly," Stacy hissed suddenly, slowing her pace. "Don't look now, but we've got company."

Blake inclined his head slightly, glancing over his shoulder out of the corner of his eye. "Shit."

Leah was less subtle; she turned around and walked backwards, regarding their tails, who were obviously aware that their cover had been blown, and were walking ever faster.

Three women walked about twenty feet behind them, each wearing an evening dress and matching jewels that glinted in the low light emitted from the street lamps.

"How do we know they're not just other guests?"

The tallest woman, a redhead wearing a dark green velvet gown and emeralds, stopped dead and pulled a semi-automatic pistol out of her purse.

"Oh. I guess that's how."

The woman fired, and Leah dived behind a hedge, kicking off her heels as she rolled; they'd be of no use to her in a fight.

"Leah, are you armed?" Stacy whispered from somewhere behind her. Leah turned and spotted the agent's slender outline, silhouetted. She was standing straight up, as though unafraid of being shot.

"Yeah," she breathed back, extracting her own handgun from the inner lining of her dinner jacket and cocking it. Suddenly, Stacy vanished and Leah felt the cool pressure of metal against her temple.

"Then I'd suggest you drop it. Effective immediately."

Her eyes slid over to confirm what she already knew. Stacy Rimington wore a cold smile, holding the gun. Leah let go of her weapon, and it clattered to the sidewalk.

One of the women, in purple, approached Rimington. "Is she an agent, then?" she asked casually.

"Barely," Rimington answered, releasing the safety catch on the gun. Leah winced. "Where's the other agent. A guy?"

"Him? Oh, Marina shot him in the chest, and the back. He's pretty much dead. Even if he ain't, he'll probably be unconscious from blood loss."

Leah, without looking at her threatener, rose to stand. Rimington's gun followed her. With quiet hatred, she muttered something inaudible.

Rimington held a hand to her ear mockingly. "Sorry? What was that?" She moved the gun, sliding it down Leah's face to rest just under her chin.

"You're a member of Diablo?"

A laugh bubbled past Rimington's lips. "I was really terrified you guys would have figured it out," she said triumphantly, her American accent surfacing entirely. "But, no. The MI6 are just as incompetent as Oliver said you would be."

"Then Dominic Grant is Denial?"

"Jeez, you're thick, aren't you?" Rimington asked, grinning. "You're stalling, though, so maybe you're not _quite _that stupid. But why bother? There's no one to help you, Reilly. So I'll answer one more question." She batted her eyelashes expectantly. The lady in purple rolled her eyes and walked away to confer with the other two tails, who stood farther away.

"Fine. So Denial knew it was us the entire time?"

Rimington giggled. "Stupid question. Of course he knew. That's the point of a mole, isn't it?"

"I guess. So even when I snogged him, he knew?"

Rimington grunted. "I told you, only one-" She was cut off as Leah's arm flashed up and snapped the gun away from her. Jumping up, she kicked her leg out and pulled Rimington's arm back as her foot connected with it. Stacy screamed out in pain as bone cracked, and fell to the floor, cradling her arm.

Leah scooped the gun up and fired a shot into the night. There was a cry of agony, and someone fell to the floor, rubies glinting at her throat. The lady in purple calmly raised her gun and shot. Leah ducked and felt the bullet whiz by where her head had been milliseconds ago.

She heard an oath from the woman in green. "My gun's jammed!"

Leah smirked and crouched onto one knee, firing three times more. One bullet went wide, but two hit the woman in purple in the knees. She crumpled.

Green Lady looked up, panic in her eyes. The gun clattered to the floor and she raised her hands in the air. Leah approached her quickly. "Get down." The lady did so, and Leah clubbed her on the back of the head swiftly, making her grunt and fall over, unconscious.

Surveying the carnage, she suddenly remembered Blake. "John," she hissed into the empty darkness. "Where are you?"

No answer. Then, quietly, a moan of pain. Leah ran in the direction of the sound, kneeling silently by the older man's side. A dark, ugly red bloomed from the centre of his chest, his flesh torn apart by the bullet. Leah took off her jacket quickly, to try and staunch the bleeding from his chest. Blake caught her attention with a half-raised hand, shivering violently in the cold, clear night air.

"Reilly...don't kill...them," he managed, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. "You'll get in...a world of... trouble."

"Would you _stop_ talking?" she demanded, pulling her phone out of her pocket. "I'm calling an ambulance." Securing 911, she was reassured by an entirely too-calm operator that help was on the way.

"Fine," Blake muttered through gritted teeth, cringing. "But give... all four of them... this..." With a labored effort he reached inside his coat pocket and pulled a small, wooden box out, handing it to her.

Inside rested a small syringe and needle, winking in the lamplight, filled with a milky white liquid. "This is-?"

"Midazolam, or at least... a derivative of it. Not a poison. Not important... right now. Ask one of the Q-Branch researchers what it is... when you get back. For now... just trust me and give all four... of them a jab."

Leah nodded and stood again, injecting some of the fluid into the each of the women's bodies. All three tails were unconscious. As Leah leaned over to find the crook of Rimington's elbow, the woman groaned, opened her eyes and cracked a weak smile.

"So... Reilly. Funny joke, huh?"

"Hilarious," she replied without emotion, sticking the needle in and angrily inserting the remainder of the midazolam.

"Woah, woah, what the hell was-" Rimington didn't get any farther before her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she went limp.

Leah curled her lip and pushed the other woman away from her, moving quietly back to Blake. She had left her phone next to him, and Blake was talking softly into it.

"Ada... Ada, no, it's okay. Just put Mum on the phone, okay, sweetheart?" He paused. "Mary, hi. What time is it... over there? 6am? Sorry I woke... you up. Just wanted to say... I love you. Ada, too. _Crap." _He flinched and coughed, blood spraying over the whitened sidewalk. "No, no, I'll be fine, just... precautions. Mary, I have to go. Love you. Bye." He brought the phone away from his ear like it was the hardest thing he had ever had to do.

A siren noise appeared suddenly in the distance. "That'll be you, then," Leah said in a cracking voice, wondering for a strange, detached moment why the agent hadn't gone into shock. She turned on her heel suddenly. "Blake, won't the paramedics see the women and ask why - hang on _wheredidtheygo?" _she asked in a slightly rising voice, bracing herself for another shot to be fired.

"Side effect... of the drug... works in our favor. Ask.. Q Branch," Blake grunted, and then all of a sudden the ambulance pulled up, all flashing lights and loud noise, and men and women piled out of it like clowns from a clown car, surrounding Blake and blocking him from her view, and then three more cornered her and began shooting questions at her.

Leah allowed her eyes to go wide. "He's my fiancé," she cried in a hysterical voice, lying and wondering vaguely if this would backfire later. Probably. "We were just walking home when a woman came out of nowhere, and just, just, _shot _him!" She dissolved into sobs, thinking that this was the easiest explanation until she could get in touch with MI6 or the American government. As the paramedic led her away with the patient expression of a martyred saint, Leah glanced back up the road again. Empty.


End file.
